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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272608">Fragmented</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/MF_Doomfist'>MF_Doomfist (raunchyandpaunchy)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amnesia, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Hacking, M/M, Omnic Crisis (Overwatch), Recovery, Robotics, Team Talon (Overwatch)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:34:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,572</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272608</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/MF_Doomfist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Wiring is fixed, and the worst of the wear on his exoskeleton has been replaced,” Angela said, never managing to look Genji in the eye. “His machinery is operational, movement is fine, but...”</i>
</p><p>  <i>“What?”</i></p><p>  <i>“It’s his memory. It appears to be corrupted.” Angela sighed, idly tugging at the stethoscope around her neck. “We’re not sure if it was the hacking or the explosion that caused it, but large quantities of data appear to be irretrievable, perhaps missing.”</i></p><p>  <i>“What does he remember?” </i></p><p>  <i>Does he remember me?</i><br/></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chocolate Box - Round 6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fragmented</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/primalrage/gifts">primalrage</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy Chocolate Box reveal, primalrage! Thank you massively for giving me a great prompt to work with, and allowing me to swing the hurt hammer a little, as a treat. </p><p>I hope you enjoy this Genyatta fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Talon’s arrival was something Genji sensed more than heard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A vague discomfort he couldn’t quite put his finger on; the dragon under his skin roiling, an ominous rumble resonating through his temple bells, and within seconds more agents than he could count had swarmed the monastery, surrounding him from all sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucky, then, that Genji enjoyed a challenge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Talon’s agents had certainly posed one—whenever Genji had sliced his way through the bodies, more had seemed to crop up, like heads of a hydra. His dragon surged to life, flowing through the blade of his katana and into the air, as bloodthirsty and furious as Genji himself. In unison, they gouged, and yet the crowd never seemed to dwindle—any choke points Genji might have been aiming to breach packed to the gills with seemingly endless agents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only then that he’d realised exactly why Talon were there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t for him, like he’d initially thought. The agents, while numerous, posed no real threat. In fact, not one person he recognised was in the rabble—just faceless, disposable drones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The real party was for Zenyatta, and Genji was just being kept busy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Genji had managed to make his way through Talon’s perimeter and into the sanctum, only one agent remained, Zenyatta’s body limp and lolling against her purple boot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was wondering when you were going to arrive, mijo.” Genji could barely make out Sombra’s words through the blood pounding in his ears, the baleful roars of his dragon that only he could hear. Everything felt slow, thick, like being underwater. “Just need to borrow a few things,” she said, tapping away at the transparent screen in front of her, before looking back to Genji and winking. “No hard feelings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could think, he had bounded across the room, and both he and his dragon pinned Sombra to the ground, snarling and starving for retribution.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you did to him,” Genji spat, the electronics in his voice distorting, “undo it. Now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And why would I want to do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji’s jaw clenched. “Because I’ll kill you if you don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sombra smirked, lilac eyes narrowing in defiance. “Wrong answer, pendejo.”<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span><br/>
The last thing Genji remembered hearing was a short, sharp </span>
  <em>
    <span>click</span>
  </em>
  <span> before he came to, and by the time he did Sombra was gone, nothing but chaos left in her wake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His ears rang, and he struggled to his feet, brushing off the worst of the debris. His exoskeleton had taken the brunt of the explosion, but he could still feel the telltale ache of a fracture, his body aching with each inhale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now, his own injuries were the least of his worries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He darted across the room, ignoring the red warning lights seeping into his own vision to scan the rubble littering the room. With any luck, Zenyatta would still be here, in one piece, or at least intact enough for Angela to patch him back up. He had to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji found him sprawled against a crumbling pillar, the lights on his faceplate blinking weakly, the plate that guarded his input ports behind his skull hanging open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. Please.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master.” No response, just a sudden, spasmodic twitch of his hand. “Master Zenyatta. Please. Talk to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zenyatta’s head turned, lights cutting in and out, but all that came out of his mouth was white noise, garbled and fuzzy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, no,” Genji said, panic spiking through him. “Please, if you can hear me, just hold on, Angela’s on her way. She can fix this, please.” He smoothed his hand over Zenyatta’s cheek, the metal cold against his. “Just stay with me.”</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first lesson Zenyatta had ever taught Genji was about letting go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is much troubling you, my student,” Zenyatta had said, hovering effortlessly. “You cannot carry it all forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The accusation rankled. Genji knew it was true—he’d been carved mercilessly into the shape Sojiro wanted him to be, only to be broken by his brother and rebuilt by Overwatch. Now, he was more machine than man, metal joints still aching and alien, what little organic matter he had left scarred and unrecognisable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t even sure what he was, now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the alternative?” The question came out in a metallic rasp, barely recognisable as his own voice. “Put it down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How am I supposed to put down something that’s etched into my body, buried deep in my bones, built into the very core of me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let the Iris carry it for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He said it as if it was as simple as breathing; </span>
  <em>
    <span>let the Iris handle it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> like Genji ought to know what that meant. He wasn’t even sure why he was here. Zenyatta had convinced him it would be helpful, and with no other prospects he’d taken the monk up on his offer, but now he was having second thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I do that, how?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zenyatta cocked his head. “You are familiar with meditation, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji nodded, grimacing. He was entirely too familiar with it—meditation was the one area of his training he had consistently struggled with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, then we will start there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reluctantly, Genji closed his eyes, his surroundings and interface receding into nothingness. Inhaled, slowly and deeply. Focused on the ground, solid and unyielding underneath him, imagining roots sprouting from the soles of his feet and sinking down into the earth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It should be second nature after decades of practicing, but it never seemed to grow any easier—each root branched off into another root, and another, bursting forth from the soil as pernicious weeds that no blade could cut through, coiling around him until he was trapped and tangled and buried underneath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are doing it still, my student.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji’s jaw clenched, annoyed. “Doing what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clinging on. Refusing to let go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying—</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are fighting yourself,” Zenyatta said simply. “And that is a fight you are destined to lose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What else am I supposed to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji hadn’t meant to shout, lose his temper, but the words echoed out nonetheless, distorting as they now did when his emotions grew too strong for his circuitry to handle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it affected Zenyatta, he didn’t let on. “The only way to win is to refuse to fight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounded pathetically obvious, hearing it out loud, and yet some vestigial part of Genji still refused to accept it. Fighting was all he knew; what he had been built for, both by Sojiro to assist the Shimada Clan, and by Overwatch to take it down. He had spent his entire life being treated as little more than a tool: a well cared-for one, admittedly, but ultimately something to be used, then disposed of if necessary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A makeshift axe made of flint and fibre and wood, its edge whetted painstakingly against a stone for hours. Dry grass and tree resin, formed into a compact ball, ready to be set alight and used for campfires, or a distraction for a quick getaway. Genji, sharpened to a razor-edge, built into something even more deadly when he shattered.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Everything in life has its uses, Sparrow. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t stop,” Genji said, fists clenched by his sides. Kept his eyes shut, so he couldn’t see the look Zenyatta was likely giving him; the same one he always got when he let his frustrations escape, the kind of look one might give an especially petulant child. “The thoughts keep sprouting up, and I can’t keep them in check, and they take over—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that really such a bad thing?” Zenyatta’s voice was warm, soothing, and suddenly Genji felt that same sensation envelop him, some intangible force that radiated through his exoskeleton down to the very bones of him. “Our job is not to chop those thoughts down, my student. Let them grow.” Genji breathed in, letting himself relax, awash in the comforting glow. “Allow the Iris to lead the way.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time Angela emerged from the medbay it was morning, dim light slatting in through the blinds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wiring is fixed, and the worst of the wear on his exoskeleton has been replaced,” she said, never managing to look Genji in the eye. “His machinery is operational, movement is fine, but...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s his memory. It appears to be corrupted.” Angela sighed, idly tugging at the stethoscope around her neck. “We’re not sure if it was the hacking or the explosion that caused it, but large quantities of data appear to be irretrievable, perhaps missing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does this mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not completely sure yet. All we know is that several memories from the past several years are missing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji frowned. “What does he remember?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Does he remember me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“When prompted, he remembered his name, and that he was Shambali, but other than that…” Angela trailed off. “But memory is complex. Given the correct triggers, his memories may be able to be retrieved.” She offered a wan smile that didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “The problem is, we don’t know what those triggers would be, or even what memories are still there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji swallowed. “Can I see him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Angela said, gesturing to him to follow. “We’re still monitoring him, running tests,” she explained, walking quickly down the hallway, “but hopefully those will be done sooner rather than later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room Angela led him into was half hospital room, half server room, machines whirring and wires tracing their way across the floor to plug into Zenyatta. On a large screen, several lines spiked up and down, like some sort of vast mountainscape. Zenyatta sat up, orbs hovering by his side, and while he looked the same as he normally did Genji couldn’t help but feel he looked small, dwarfed by the machinery behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master,” Genji said, the word catching in his throat. “It’s so good to see you again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zenyatta looked up, lights flaring brighter. “Hello, my friend.” He cocked his head. “I do not wish to be rude, but I cannot place you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji had expected this, braced for impact, and yet it still knocked the breath from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am your student,” he said, holding out his wrist to let Zenyatta see the bracelet of temple bells he wore, soothed somewhat when Zenyatta’s lights flickered in recognition. “We live and train together at the monastery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another, sharper flicker of Zenyatta’s lights; more sudden this time, the blunt staccato blips of Morse Code rather than the soft, slow dim that they usually emitted. “My apologies,” he said, voice friendly but detached, no hint of the familiar warmth Genji was so used to hearing. “Perhaps if you tell me your name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Genji.” No response. “Genji Shimada. We met in Nepal, just over two years ago.” His fingers fumbled with the fastenings at the side of his head, removing his faceplate to show Zenyatta what was underneath. “When I met you, my omnics were new, unfamiliar. I resented who I had become.” He let Zenyatta look at his face, exhaling slowly, riding out the surge of panic he always felt when he let himself be exposed. “You helped me make peace with myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To distill what Zenyatta was to him down to a few sentences was utterly inadequate. He was so much more than that; a mentor, a friend, a lifeline. He hadn’t realised how many different levels on which one could love and be loved until he’d met Zenyatta, and learned first hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another stuttering blink of Zenyatta’s lights. “Are you sure you are not mistaking me for another?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji had almost been killed once. He remembered it as if it was yesterday—Hanzo’s blade against his throat, no trace of the brother he’d once known and loved in his cold, brown eyes. He’d been surprised at how little he felt—he’d expected pain, panic, but the only sensation he registered was his own blood, hot against his rapidly cooling skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d never felt that numb before, but that was how he felt again now; flayed open by someone he loved, as they looked at him like he was a stranger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am positive, Master Zenyatta.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zenyatta ran his thumb over the palm of his opposing hand; something Genji only saw him do on the rare occasions that something troubled him. “They did tell me I’d have difficulty with memory recall,” he said, gesturing to the wires attached to him. “Apparently there was an incident? I cannot remember.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji nodded. “Talon attacked us at the monastery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Attacked?” Zenyatta’s head cocked. “For what possible reason?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angela had said that Zenyatta had forgotten much, but Genji hadn’t considered the full implications of what that would mean. The Omnic Crisis, Talon, Mondatta’s death. Zenyatta remembered none of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s complicated,” Genji said, fastening his faceplate back into place, because while Zenyatta might fail to recognise him, he wouldn’t fail to recognise the concern on his face. “You should rest. I can tell you later.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Over time, meditation went from a torturous routine to something Genji actually enjoyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It turned out that meditating was far easier when you didn’t constantly try to fight your own thoughts—they still cropped up, but now Genji saw them more as quiet company than an active threat, allowing them to come and go as they pleased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It also allowed him to spend more time with Zenyatta. Sometimes they talked—when a thought emerged that Genji felt he should mention, or even just when something interested either one of them—but mostly it was just the pair in comfortable silence, Zenyatta’s orbs lazily circling around them both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master Zenyatta,” Genji said softly, hands and fingers fluidly forming the shapes of </span>
  <span>kuji-in</span>
  <span>. “Do you ever wish you weren’t omnic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zenyatta hummed. “An interesting question. I have often wondered what it might be like to taste food, or to share a kiss with another, or even to cry,” he said, “but I have never wished to be anything other than what I am.” He moved closer, orbs following suit to surround them both, the gentle hum they emitted barely audible. “Why do you ask?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji suspected Zenyatta knew the answer, and was asking to find out if he knew, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am still troubled by my new body.” Genji exhaled. “I should be thankful—I would be dead if it wasn’t for Overwatch. But it doesn’t feel like a part of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are more than the parts that make you, Genji.” Zenyatta’s hands clasped over his own. “Human or omnic, our bodies are merely vessels for our true selves.” His thumb rubbed slow, gentle circles across the surface of Genji’s hand. “But that does not mean that you cannot make peace with the vessel that holds you, whichever form it takes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji leaned into Zenyatta. “I can no longer eat in the presence of other people, because I am too afraid to let them see what is underneath here,” Genji said, gesturing at his faceplate. Already, he felt stupid for saying the words aloud, but they were out now, ugly and naked and vulnerable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Genji,” Zenyatta said, utterly adoring, like his name alone was a gift, “how anyone could look at you and not see how beautiful you are is truly a mystery. But regardless of others’ opinions, you deserve to nourish yourself without shame. That will come with time, but until it does, focus on what is familiar to you, and the way your current form serves you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zenyatta’s hands moved Genji’s, forming them into the shape of jin. “It moves in the same way your old form did, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> are the one that controls it.” Ran his finger along Genji’s arm, splaying his hand over his chest, a soft current flowing between them. “It feels the same sensations, even if it might not experience them in exactly the same way.” His hand moved higher, fingers brushing Genji’s jaw and stopping to hover over the fastenings of his faceplate, wordlessly seeking permission to proceed. When Genji nodded, Zenyatta gently prised them open, pulling the plate away to reveal Genji’s face. “Most importantly, it houses you, tethers you to this world and allows you to move through it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zenyatta’s fingers traced across his face, the metal cool against Genji’s skin, running over each scar as if he was committing it to memory. Gentle and reverent, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> each touch ran down to the pit of his soul, the organic and omnic parts of himself both lit up with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are more than our physical forms, Genji,” Zenyatta said, his voice golden, “but physicality has its uses, too, wouldn’t you say?”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Zenyatta woke up the first morning after Talon’s attack, they started over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji told him all that had happened--the second Omnic Crisis, the return of Overwatch, King’s Row and Mondatta’s death. When Zenyatta was released from Angela’s care, they mourned him again together, meditating until dusk fell and the ceremonial candles they’d lit had burned down to the wick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It became clear after several days that any memories Zenyatta had of Genji were buried deep, unlikely to resurface any time soon—possibly never again. The thought was heartbreaking, devastating in a way Genji didn’t know he could still experience, but he’d sooner die than abandon Zenyatta—he had given Genji more than he could ever hope to repay, but he could still try, and having Zenyatta in his life in any capacity was better than not having him in his life at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, they started again, slowly rebuilding their relationship as they repaired the damage Talon had done to the monastery. Meditated together, trained together, shared conversations that were new to Zenyatta but familiar to Genji. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zenyatta was fascinated to find that Genji knew kuji-in, to which Genji laughed and told him he was lucky to have had such a good teacher. His lights flared with delight when Genji introduced him to arcade games, same as they had the first time he’d shown Zenyatta them, and part way through playing Dance Dance Revolution Zenyatta’s lights </span>
  <em>
    <span>beamed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, announcing excitedly that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>remembered</span>
  </em>
  <span> this song.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We used to play this game,” Genji said, heart full of hope. “Do you remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lights on Zenyatta’s head faded. “I’m sorry, Genji.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over time, the monastery was restored, and other memories began to resurface—nothing major, but small details, like names of films he’d watched, and Angela’s favourite chocolates. They came back like cuttings from a magazine, removed entirely from their context to be pieced together later, and while Genji understood that this was the reality of the situation, it still stung when something came back to Zenyatta that wasn’t him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt it keenly this morning when Zenyatta had remembered something new, and he had gone outside to meditate, the sun beating down on him as he let himself drift. By the time Zenyatta joined him it hung high in the sky, at the peak of its intensity, and Genji pried at his faceplate, desperate to alleviate the sweltering heat underneath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How is the day treating you so far, my student?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji smiled, unhooking the plate to leave his face free. “Well enough, Master,” he said, reaching for his canteen and taking a long, slow swig of water. “Although it’s hard to concentrate when it’s—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Genji,” Zenyatta sighed, warm and fond and </span>
  <em>
    <span>delighted,</span>
  </em>
  <span> lights pulsing euphorically. “My brightest student. How I’ve missed you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears pricked at the corner of Genji’s eyes. His breath caught in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master Zenyatta,” he choked out, wrapping his arms around him and clinging tight, scared he would disappear completely at any second. “You remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They held each other tight, orbs dancing around them, their light and warmth as intense as the sun’s. Cradled each other, Genji sobbing into the crook of Zenyatta’s shoulder, Zenyatta soothing him as he always did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Genji could bear to, he broke away, cupping Zenyatta’s face in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so glad you remembered,” he said, a delirious laugh escaping him. “I missed this so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure how I managed to forget,” Zenyatta responded, leaning into Genji’s touch. “Oh, Genji, to stay with me even through—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lights on Zenyatta’s head cut out, then flashed back to life, flickering erratically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. Please.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master Zenyatta?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They flashed again, once, twice, three times in short, violent bursts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I can’t…” Zenyatta’s head shook, frustrated. “I don’t…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master Zenyatta,” Genji said quietly, “who am I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zenyatta wrung his hands, his thumb rubbing slow circles across his palm, and eventually his lights stopped flashing in staccato bursts and settled back into the gentle fade in and out that Genji recognised. “You’re Genji,” he said, hesitant. “You helped me after the accident.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji’s heart dropped. All he had wanted, he’d had, only for it to be snatched away from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I remembered you for a moment,” Zenyatta said sadly. “But I can’t recall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji felt around for his faceplate, desperate to cover himself back up, protect himself as much as he could. “It’s okay,” he said, fastening the plate back in place, unable to look at Zenyatta. It wasn’t really, but that wasn’t Zenyatta’s fault, and the last thing he needed was to feel bad about that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I did remember,” Zenyatta said softly, “that means the memory is still there. And I’ll do whatever I can to find it again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They meditated a little longer, and went about their day, and when they woke up the next morning they started over.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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